The Warlock, the Ice King and the Wardrobe
by Gabi Howard
Summary: Alfred always thought Arthur was weird, but this takes it to a whole new level. After all, what kind of person has a whole new world in the back of their closet?
1. Chapter 1

It was a Sunday morning, and all was quiet. Rain pattered soothingly against the windows as the sun rose unseen beyond the curtains covering them. Not a creature was stirring, save for a few mice and a small boy creeping through one of the bedrooms towards the occupant of the bed, a bowl of ice-cold water in his hands and a mischievous grin on his face as he threw it at the sleeping figure.

"SURPRISE, JERK!"

"BLOODY HELL!"

And that was how Arthur Kirkland's morning began.

-

Ten minutes later, the echoes of Peter's laughter could still be heard around the house as Arthur shuffled into the utility room, dragging his sodden pillows behind him. Figuring they could wait a few minutes- until he'd had some tea, at least- he left them there and padded towards the kitchen. He had barely reached the hall, however, when a loud knocking on the front door stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to see a tall figure outlined in the frosted glass panes.

Great. As if having Peter to stay wasn't nightmarish enough. Arthur grumbled under his breath as he went to unlock the door- it wouldn't do to leave Alfred outside on a day like this, after all.

"Finally!" Was the greeting he got when he opened it. "What took you so long?"

"Alfred, you were only knocking for a couple of seconds," a voice from behind him reproached. Arthur looked around Alfred to see Matthew struggling up the steps to his London house, dragging a pair of suitcases behind him. Arthur felt somewhat relieved- the younger of the brothers was usually able to keep his elder sibling in check, or at least somewhat quieter than otherwise.

"But it _felt_ like forever because it was raining." Alfred told him, grinning down at Arthur. "By the way, is it alright if we come to stay for a bit?"

"If you what?" Arthur mumbled blearily.

"Stay. With you. For a couple of days, maybe. All the hotels around here are way too expensive, you should see the prices!"

"Well..." It was true, after all, although Arthur didn't doubt that Alfred's government could probably have footed the bill, credit crunch or no. "I don't see why n-"

"Awesome! Thanks Arthur!" Alfred beamed, taking that as his cue to enter. "This place hasn't changed in forever, dude, you seriously need to do some redecorating! And who's-"

"Jerk Arthur, who's that?"

Dear God. Alfred hadn't even been there five minutes and already Arthur could feel a headache coming on. "Peter, meet Alfred. Alfred, this is my younger brother-"

"The glorious uber-micro-nation of Sealand!" The boy announced. "And I'm gonna be an empire some day!"

Alfred stared at him, nonplussed, as Arthur bent to help Matthew with the suitcases. "Who?"

"You jerk!" Peter looked scandalised. "Everyone knows about Sealand!"

"...oh, I get it. That concert place Fall Out Boy wanted to go to, right?"

"And I'll use it to be recognised as a real Nation! Through the power of music-"

"Dude, are you even listening to yourself? You sound like some crappy evil guy in a low-budget movie!"

"How dare you? The glorious nation of Sealand will one day rule the world, and you'll be the first I subjugate, jerk!"

Alfred howled with laughter- Peter, in response, with anger. As the two continued to argue, Matthew gave Arthur a sympathetic look, and asked "tea?"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Would be wonderful, thank you."

-

Hours later, with the rain showing no sign of letting up, Alfred was bored and just a teensy bit scared. Annoying Arthur was only fun up to a point, and that point had been crossed after he'd switched the salt with the sugar just prior to Arthur deciding to make himself yet another pot of tea. And no, he was not trying to find a place to hide now that he seemed to have flown into a homicidal rage. Really. He was just playing hide-and-seek with himself, that was all.

Anyway, for an old house, Arthur's place really didn't have that many places to hide that weren't either really dark or really cold. Having combed the lower floors for suitable places to escape his one-time mentor, he was beginning to get a bit bored of looking. Arthur's shouts weren't letting up though, and so he tried the door to his left anyway.

The room it led to was small and looked fairly abandoned. The walls were bare, with a small window letting in just enough light to see by, and a closet in the corner looking slightly menacing in the shadow that the sunlight didn't reach. He was about to turn around and look for some other place to hide when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Suddenly the closet looked a good deal more inviting, and without further ado he scrambled inside. It was a bit of a tight fit, but if he curled in on himself, it just about worked. It was cold though. There was a draft coming through from somewhere at the back, and he turned to see a tiny ray of light peeking between the old, mothball-y coats hung up around him.

Before he had a chance to find out what it was, however, the door to the room was opened. A moment later, the cupboard doors were yanked open too and Alfred whipped his head back around to see the kid from earlier staring at him.

"You jerk! Get out of my hiding place!"

"Your hiding place?" Alfred repeated incredulously. "I found it!"

"I found it first!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Bloody hell, will you both shut up?"

The shout sounded scarily close to them. The pair exchanged glances for a moment before the kid spoke, sounding more than a little freaked out. "Can you budge over a bit?"

"Yeah, sure." Alfred shuffled backwards, allowing him to scramble in and pull the doors, leaving them in the semi-darkness. They sat in silence for a minute before the kid spoke again.

"What's that? There's never been no light in here before."

Alfred looked over his shoulder at the glimmer behind the coats. "You hide here often, then?"

"Pretty often. Jerk Arthur... well, he never actually does anything bad, but it's better to be safe, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

There was silence again, then, "So are you going to see what that is or not?"

"Course I am! You just distracted me, is all." Alfred protested, turning back to peer through the coats again. He pushed one aside, then another, then another. Eventually there were too many for his arms to hold back, and several fell back on the kid, who gave a muffled, indignant yelp as they hit him squarely in the face. "Sorry. I swear this thing wasn't so big from the outside though."

"No, it wasn't." The kid sounded a bit curious now, though mostly annoyed. "Or it shouldn't be anyway. But this is jerk Arthur- he has weird stuff lying around."

"Yeah." Alfred snorted. "Did you ever see that weird toga costume he used to keep in his study?"

"The one with the wand? Tried to burn it one year for Halloween, as an exorcism-thingie. He got so mad, I got no scones for a month."

"Isn't that kind of a good thing though?"

The kid thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Not really. Everyone else said that, but I think- well, they're not that bad really, if you have jam on them and stuff..."

"Lots of jam."

"Well, yeah. But still." Alfred had to admit it was a valid point. He pressed no further, instead choosing to push through even more coats towards steadily strengthening source of light ahead. The draft blew through the closet again and he shivered.

"Is it me or is it getting really cold in here?"

"Just a bit, yeah." The kid said. He was shivering a bit, Alfred noticed. For a moment, he debated whether or not to give him his jacket- then he remembered he'd left it in the kitchen, and that they were currently in a closet full of coats.

"Here," he said, yanking a couple off their hooks and handing one to the kid, who muttered a 'thanks, but no thanks' as he dropped the mothballed item of clothing on the floor. Alfred 'hmph'ed. "Fine then- suit yourself."

Well, actually they did smell kinda bad. Alfred shrugged off the half-put-on coat he'd been tugging along his arms (it'd definitely not been made for someone his size) before continuing the crawl forwards. His arms swept aside a fur coat, a leather one, another leather one, a woollen one, and finally one that was covered in snow.

_Wait, what? __  
_  
He peered at the arm of the 'coat' he'd just pushed to one side to find that it wasn't a coat at all, but a snow-covered branch. But how on earth had it gotten inside a closet?

"Wow..." The kid breathed, and Alfred finally looked up to see that the closet wasn't a normal closet at all, but a passageway to somewhere that was quite definitely not the heart of Yorkshire. Fir trees clustered around the opening they were in, weighed down heavily by snow and ice Beyond them was a clearing in which snowflakes were falling almost lazily to lie on snowdrifts that had to have been at least a foot deep already.

The kid was first to react properly. He dashed out into the cold, almost knocking Alfred over in his haste (and that was no mean feat), before hugging his arms and shivering even more. Alfred picked up the coats that now seemed like a pretty good idea, and held one out to him. The kid took it gratefully, although he pulled a bit of a face at the smell as he put it on. Before long they were both flinging themselves into the snow, laughing and doing their best to hide the fact that they were making snowballs from each other. Eventually they both turned to throw them at the same time, and by complete chance, the things hit each other in mid-air and exploded in a shower of white. They both laughed, having entirely forgotten any previous enmity between them, and bent to make some more.

Amidst the chaos of the epic snowball fight that ensued, neither of them noticed the figure moving towards them until one of Alfred's snowballs hit him square on the nose. "Ouch!"

The voice was high-pitched, and accompanied by several thumps. Alfred and the kid turned to see a man sitting in the snow, having evidently just been knocked down, with several parcels lying scattered beside him. He rubbed his nose, looking up at them like a kicked puppy. "Ve- that hurt!"

"Oh! Sorry- didn't see you there, Feli!"

"It's okay," Feliciano told Alfred as he helped him up. "But... ve- I'm so very, very sorry, but do I know you?"

"Know me? Of course you do! I'm Alfred, remember? And this is..."

"Peter."

"Peter! You remember us, right? Or have you hit your head on something a bit too hard lately?" The explanation was met with a blank look. "Alfred? Peter?"

"...ve, I don't think I ever knew anyone called Peter, or Alfred..."

"Yes you do."

"I don't"

"Stop getting your knickers in a twist, jerk." The kid- Peter- snickered. Alfred glowered over at him, noticing for the first time the oddity protruding from the ground next to Peter.

"You know Russia will come and get you if you stand by that tap too long, right? Come here and help us out!"

"Who's Russia?"

"Ivan Braginsky?"

"Him! Oh..." Peter seemed to remember something, then shuddered and hurried over. Alfred grinned. However much of a pain his enemy was, he could still come in handy from time to time.

As he was to pick up the next parcel, though, he didn't notice the way Feliciano's face went white at the mention of his name.


	2. Chapter 2

"MattieMattieMattie, you'll never guess what we've found!"

Matthew closed his eyes and counted to three before replying. When his brother was in this sort of mood, it was useful to be as calm as possible. "An entirely new species of alien?"

"No, but that would be seriously cool-"

"A way of building that sun-blocking robot of yours, then."

"No, but... hey, you're starting to sound like Arthur there."

Matthew shrugged, thinking that given how late Alfred's music had been keeping him up of late made him perfectly entitled to be somewhat grumpy. "There are worse people to emulate."

Alfred gave him a funny look. "Okay, seriously, we need to get you out of here before he starts turning you into a colony again. Dude's got far too many old-fashioned ideas as it is."

"And yours are the pinnacle of sense and modernity, I take it?"

"Got that right! But seriously, enough Arthur impressions. You're beginning to scare me." Alfred nodded to himself, as though he'd proved a debate-winning point. "Anyway, you gotta come see what me and Peter found!"

"What did you and Peter find?" Matthew asked dully, pouring water into the kettle. Alfred wrinkled his nose at it.

"That better not be for you-"

"It isn't."

"Well, good! And you're not gonna believe this, Mattie, but- oh, you're just gonna have to see it! But it's so cool, and it's not raining there, and it's got Feliciano but he doesn't seem to remember us, and..." Alfred rambled on, seemingly oblivious to the way that, aside from making various 'hmm'-ing noises whenever his brother paused, Matthew was paying no attention whatsoever. A few minutes later, he seemed to run out of steam and simply stared at Matthew as if waiting for confirmation of something.

"Alright... I'll take a look, then." he told him, still entirely ignorant of what exactly he was agreeing to 'take a look' at. "It'll have to wait until Arthur's got his tea though- you know what he's like."

"Fine. You know that closet on the third floor? Meet us there in two minutes!" With that, Alfred dashed out of the kitchen again before Matthew had a chance to reply. He sighed- it was so typical of Alfred to do that- before turning back to the kettle as it began to whistle at him.

His brother really was insufferable at times.

"Alfred?"

Having delivered Arthur his tea, Matthew had gone straight up to the third floor. There he had found many rooms, at least half a dozen of them furnished with closets. One had been reminiscent of Hot Topic on Halloween night- all concentric circles and black paint with runes galore- and there had been another one that he really rather wished he hadn't looked in, but which seemed to confirm Alfred's suspicion that their ex-guardian was really a closet pervert.

No Alfred, though. No Peter either, and really, everything was far too quiet for a house containing the both of them. Not that Matthew minded that all that much, of course- just that it was starting to make him wonder if there wasn't something extremely bad about to happen.

"Mattie!" The sudden shout made him jump, and he turned to see his brother running down the hall towards him. "Sorry about that, it was the fourth floor really, I forgot. You're gonna love this though!"

"Love what?" Matthew was sceptical as Alfred began tugging on his arm to drag him away- with reason, of course. A great deal of Alfred's 'awesome stuff I found' had landed him in trouble in the past, and he'd been rather hoping for a quiet day.

"It's a surprise! Come on, Groucho. Arthur really is rubbing off on you, isn't he?"

"He's not-" But of course his protests went unheard. With a sigh (he made a mental note to keep a tally of them one day), he allowed himself to be dragged along to the stairs to the tune of Alfred enthusing about how he was certain Matthew would "absolutely love this place, honest!"

"It's a closet."

"It's not just a closet, Mattie!"

"Alright, it's a closet in an abandoned spare room. With a dead fly on the windowsill." He added, on spotting the deceased insect. Alfred spared its sorry cadaver a glance before he turned huffily back to Matthew.

"But it's more than that! Seriously, you've seen nothing yet." He threw the doors of the closet open with a flourish. "Go on, see for yourself!"

Matthew gave the closet a sceptical look. "I doubt I could fit in there, Al..."

"Sure you can! The place is frickin' huge, Mattie- anyone could fit!" Alfred told him, sounding proud with himself.

"Right..." Then Matthew remembered something. "You said 'us' earlier-" Alfred shrugged.

"Yeah, Peter got bored of waiting for you, so he went off somewhere. No idea where."

Matthew took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. I'll take a look then."

"Awesome!" Alfred grinned, giving Matthew a shove in the direction of the closet. His muttered "I can get there on my own, you know" was ignored, and he clambered inside the admittedly comparatively big closet...

...only to bump his nose on the back a moment later. With yet another long-suffering sigh, he rubbed his nose and turned to Alfred. "So what is it I'm meant to be seeing exactly?"

"Isn't it there?"

"No."

"It should be. Let me have a look!" Matthew obligingly crawled back out of the closet to make way for his brother, who shuffled in rather faster than he had done and hit the back with a loud "ouch!"

"Now," Matthew asked, as Alfred came out nursing his nose and forehead, "what was meant to be there, exactly?"

"I dunno... it was there earlier, I swear!"

"Right." Matthew folded his arms, amused by his brother's slightly nasal tone of voice. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll be going back downstairs."

"Hey, Mattie- wait!"

But he didn't. Alfred's protests followed Matthew out the door and all the way down to the kitchen, where closing the fireproof door shut them out as he proceeded to start making dinner.

-  
Coats brushed against Peter as he pushed through the wardrobe. The last few flakes of snow on his jeans melted in the increasing warmth, and by the time he jumped down from the wardrobe he merely looked slightly damp. "Yo, jerk Alfred! You're missing Feliciano's pasta, man- he's saving some for you!"

Alfred stared at him. "How did you get through there?"

"Well," Peter said slowly, giving him his best 'you're so dumb' look, "I walked past that tap and through the coats. Just like before."

"What? But-" Alfred stuck his head into the wardrobe, pushing the coats past to see the snowy landscape beyond, "but that didn't work just now! I tried showing Matt just now, and it was a normal closet!"

"Wardrobe," Peter corrected, "it's called a wardrobe."

"Oh shut up. My way of saying it's better than yours."

"Is not!"

"Is too!" Alfred told him, crawling into the wardrobe with his hand stretched out in front of him.

"Isn't." Peter repeated, ducking in behind him.

"It's there... but it wasn't before. How the hell does that work?"

Peter shrugged. "No clue, but Feliciano's waiting. Come on, jerk."

"Ve- ve, Alfred! The pasta's getting cold!" Alfred grinned on seeing the Italian, his earlier confusion forgotten.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I tried to bring my brother along so he could have some too, but the closet-"

"Wardrobe."

"-_closet_ wouldn't let us in."

Feliciano waved his hands dismissively. "Ve, it's no problem. Now hurry up or I'll have to throw it away and that would be sad!" He led the way into his house (Alfred having to duck to get through the door), and pointed Alfred and Peter in the direction of the dining table, where four plates of Spaghetti Bolognese were laid out as though they were in a posh restaurant. Alfred grinned.

"Nice one, Feli!"

The man beamed at him. "Ve- thanks!" Alfred still hadn't been able to convince him that they did indeed know each other, but for now he was content to assume that if this was all an elaborate setup, at least he was getting food out of it that wasn't hideously burnt or smothered in maple syrup. Admittedly, not everything his brother made had the stuff in it, but most of it did, and even Alfred- who had a mouth full of sweet teeth- had gotten a bit sick of the stuff over the days he'd spent staying with him.

The trio settled themselves down at the table, with Feliciano fussing over the proceedings like a mother hen. "And I don't have any parmesan- ve, this is horrible! But there's water and spaghetti and a little bit of wine, so we should be okay for now."

Alfred grinned lazily up at him. "It'll be fine, Feli- sit down."

"But-"

"Sit."

"Oh, alright then..."

Peter had already started eating by this point, shovelling spaghetti and sauce into his mouth as though he hadn't eaten in days. "'S really good!" He said, the words muffled by the food he was chewing at the same time. Feliciano smiled, looking slightly less skittish.

"Ve- thankyou! Eat up, Alfred, it's good for you!"

For once, Alfred was quite happy to do as he was told. The spaghetti really was good- not that that was a surprise- and he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, so he was pretty hungry. Tired, too, he noticed as the meal went on. Feliciano wasn't chatting as much as usual, so as he was pretty much left to his own thoughts, he noticed it fairly quickly. A glance upwards showed that Peter was looking pretty sleepy too, though Feliciano appeared to be fine.

"Ve- Alfred, Peter, would you like me to play some music?"

Alfred nodded, then wished he hadn't as his head began to spin. "Alright then." Feliciano got up and, after a few minutes' searching, he returned to the table with a small guitar. He strummed it for a moment, then picked out a few chords as he began to sing.

"Addio, mia bella, addio, e l'armata se ne va..."

Alfred felt his eyelids begin to droop; he was having trouble holding his head up. "Feli? 'M kind of tired..." he mumbled.

Feliciano didn't seem to hear him. _"E se non partisse anch'io, sarebbe una viltà..."_

The soft chords were soothing, and sleep seemed oh-so-inviting to Alfred. Figuring that five minutes couldn't really hurt, he let his head loll forward as he slipped away into darkness to the sound of Feliciano, who was still singing softly.

"_E se non partisse anch'io, sarebbe una viltà..."_

"Alfred? Peter?" Matthew called up the stairs, yet again. Dinner was about ready; if those two didn't get downstairs, they'd miss it. "Arthur's perfectly calm, honest!"

Still no reply. With a sigh, he began to climb the stairs to the third floor. If his hunch was right, they'd still be there- although he was quietly preparing himself for whatever trap Alfred or Peter may have set for him in the spare room.

The door creaked as he pushed it open. The room was exactly as it had been earlier, if a little darker. "Alfred? Peter?"

There was no reply. He took a tentative step into the room and was more than a little relieved at the lack of buckets upending on his head as he did so. Emboldened, he took another step, followed by another.

"Matthew?"

"Up here Arthur- just looking for the others."

"Right. You be careful then."

A smile tugged at the corner of Matthew's mouth. "I will be, don't worry."

He was at the closet now, hesitantly reaching for the door. There were no buzzers attached- no tricks of any kind, in fact- and so he tugged it ajar. The closet was quite empty, apart from the old coats hanging inside. He was about to turn away and look elsewhere, giving up on his hunch, when the slightest of breezes tickled his neck. Curious, he reached into the closet and pushed apart some coats so that a faint light was just visible behind them.

"What on Earth...?" He muttered, crouching in order to get inside the closet and push a few more coats out of the way. The light grew stronger and he moved forward, too engrossed in its pursuit to even notice the soft 'click!' of the doors closing behind him.

- - -

_The Italian is from a traditional song, __Addio, mia Bella__. The lyrics to the verse here, roughly translated, are as follows: _

_Goodbye, my beauty, goodbye  
And if the army leaves  
And I do not go  
Then I have been a coward  
And if I do not go  
Then I have been a coward_

_On the other hand, given that my Italian really isn't brilliant, if anyone can offer a more accurate translation, or if I've made any really stupid mistakes, then don't hestitate to let me know._


	3. Chapter 3

It was dark, and there was an odd noise coming from somewhere in the room. Peter opened his eyes, yawning loudly. "Jerk Alfred? You there?"

"He is not awake yet, ve-" The whisper was punctuated by a small sob, and Peter realised that the noise was that of someone crying.

"Feliciano?"

"Yes, it was me."

Peter frowned, confused. "What?"

"I- ve, Peter, but the Ice King is so harsh! He has made us all promise to be spies against you- he wanted me to kill you!"

"The Ice King? But who-" Peter's mind, slow and foggy with sleep, was slowly working out what had just been said. "You're trying to kill us?"

"No! Not kill you-"

"But you poisoned the food!" Peter realised, shocked. "You poisoned the food, you jerk bastard- we could have died!"

"You couldn't! You wouldn't have! I am not trying to kill you, not any more! But you must leave here, as soon as you can!"

"Or what?"

"The Ice King's spies are everywhere, ve- they will have seen you come here and they will have told him."

There was a groan from the other end of the table. Peter and Feliciano watched Alfred as he stretched slightly, muttering something neither of them could hear, before flopping back into his chair with a grunt.

"Okay," Peter said, turning back to Feliciano, who sat sniffling in a chair by the fire, "one- who the heck is this Ice King, two- why does he want us dead and three..." But he couldn't think of a third point just yet, and so the sentence trailed off lamely. Feliciano sighed.

"The Ice King... ve, but how can you not know him? Your Alfred does- he is the Ivan I heard him tell you about before."

"...oh." Well, that kind of made sense. From what Arthur and his Dads had told him, Peter knew Ivan was really not a very nice person at all- downright evil, they'd called him. Cracked. Bloody insane. Which might just explain the death wish he apparently had for them.

"And he wants to kill you because of the prophecy that says that, when three boys with golden hair arrive in Narnia, they will summon back Albion, and he will be the end of the Ice King's reign."

Or not.

"Okay... could you explain that to me a bit more, please?"

"Hey! Open up in there, idiot!" Someone yelled from outside, making Peter and Feliciano jump, and waking Alfred up.

"Wha-!" He said blearily. "Whad'd I miss?"

"Everything." Peter snapped back, more than a little scared by the way the person outside was pounding on the door.

Feliciano didn't seem to be so concerned though. "Ve- Romano!" He called out. Scrambling to his feet, he hurried over to the door and was almost punched in the face when he opened it as Romano swung his arm for another knock.

"Finally!" He hissed, scurrying inside and slamming the door behind him. He glared at Peter and Alfred for a moment before rounding on Feliciano again. "Have you gone completely mad?"

"N-no..."

"So why are these two here? You know what Ivan said!"

"Of course I do, ve-"

"Then you know that you're putting us all in danger, idiot!"

"I'm sorry!"

Romano took a deep breath, seemingly forcing himself to calm down. "You always are. But this time, Feliciano, how much time do you think we have to feel sorry for you?"

"Ve- what?"

"Natasya's coming. She'll be here within an hour, and as far as I can tell, Ivan's following her."

"...oh." Feliciano said quietly. Peter glanced over at Alfred, who looked defiant.

"Then let them come! We'll kick their asses- or even better, I'll kick them for you!" Romano glared at him again by way of reply. Feliciano's gaze flicked between the two.

"Ve- Alfred, I don't think that's such a good idea..."

"Why not? I did it once, didn't I?"

"...did you?" Peter asked for all of them. "Arthur never said anything about that, and my Dads didn't either."

"Well, I did- and don't you mean 'Dad'? Single version?"

"No, Dads," Peter told him, drawing out the 's' so that it sounded like a 'z'. "And anyway, I don't think things will work the same way here."

"And why shouldn't they?"

"Hey! Enough of that." Romano butted in, still glaring at Alfred. "Listen, you- I don't think you really get what we're up against. We're not fighting anyone. In fact, we're getting out right now."

"A hero never runs away!" Said Alfred, puffing out his chest a little. "Not even from-"

There was a pounding on the door, and all four people in the room turned to look at it. "Open up!" Called a girlish voice from the other side. "Or I'll have to break this door down, and maybe kill you all."

Whoever it was sounded insane, discussing their deaths like a change in the weather. Peter shuddered, and even Alfred looked a little worried.

"Okay, so I'm not going up against her."

Romano rolled his eyes. "Finally, the bastard sees some sense! Now- Feliciano?"

"Ve, big brother- I have a white flag, can't we just-?"

"No!"

"Oh, all right then..." Feliciano scuttled over to the side of the room, where a musty bookcase stood just beside the fireplace.

"He wouldn't..." breathed Peter, realising what he was about to do. At least, what he appeared to be about to do; instead, he bent and lifted up the poker, with which he tapped on a flagstone at the bottom of the fireplace. The stone swung down like a trapdoor, revealing a dark tunnel below.

"He _didn't_." Alfred said, looking mildly impressed.

"I'd have done it better though." Peter whispered, not wanting to be overheard by Romano.

"And I'd have done it even better than you."

"How do you know?" Peter asked, indignant, as Romano began pushing them towards the trapdoor.

"Because I'm just that awesome."

The tunnel, once they'd scrambled down the ladder to get to it, and pulled the stone back in to place, was dark and absolutely titchy. Despite Romano having ordered them in no uncertain terms to be quiet, there were several yelps as Alfred bashed his head on the ceiling.

"Ssh!" Romano hissed after the nth repeat. Alfred scowled back at him.

"Well, I'm sorry, but-"

"No, ssh!" The others did so, and heard a scraping noise. Then another, and then a thud.

"Ve- they're in the tunnel!" Feliciano squeaked.

There was a moment's shocked silence, after which no-one needed Romano's hissed "run!"

-

"Okay Al, I believe you now. No point in hiding, is there?" Matthew shouted, trudging through the deep snow and shrugging the slightly-too-small coat a little further over his chest as he pushed his way through the trees. There was no reply though, just as there hadn't been the last dozen-odd times he'd called, and he was beginning to lose hope.

"You are looking for someone, comrade?" Matthew's head snapped round at the sound of the familiar voice. No, he'd not been mistaken- that was Ivan standing there, just a few metres behind him.

How long has he been there? "Yes- Alfred. And Peter too, if his story's to be believed, which I suppose it is." Russia cocked his head to one side, regarding him with a slightly bemused smile.

"I do not follow, comrade. Who is this Alfred of yours?"

Matthew blinked, nonplussed. "Who is he? You're asking me who Alfred is?"

"Well, yes. Is the request such a confusing one?" Ivan asked, still smiling.

"Erm..." _Yes._ "I guess it's kind of odd, since he... well, since he sort of used to be your worst enemy and all..." Matthew explained, slowly trailing off as Ivan's expression still did not change.

"I still do not quite understand you, comrade. But that is no matter- you look cold! We must get you out of this snow. Here, follow me." He beamed at Matthew, then strode off into the forest. A little worried now, Matthew followed him. Insane or not, he was the only familiar face he'd seen in this forest- and he'd reformed now, hadn't he?

At the back of his mind, though, a question still niggled- _how did he get through that wardrobe in the first place_?

-


End file.
